Hestia's ready room plays host to the largest gathering of outlandish accents in recent memory, as several pilots check on assignments and swap callsign stories with their new CAG.

Date:

PHD240 (Dec 14)

Related Logs:

None

Players:

............

The Ready Room is warmly scented with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The white board has been filled out, CAP rotations scheduled, wingmen chosen, flight restrictions updated, and the CAG sits at the desk across the way shuffling through some paperwork and personnel files. Some video is queued up on the post flight review, but paused, and the lights are up, indicating it was stopped mid stream and something else was tackled. From the looks of it, signing and making all the transfers official. Either that or Sito's writing one hell of a memoir.

Having only arrived on board yesterday, Komnenos is still wearing his blues. He's managed to catch a bit of rack time in a borrowed bunk, and now it's to the next item on the agenda - work. His objective is the whiteboard, and he makes it about halfway to the board before he notices the room isn't empty. As he notices Sito working, he stops, straightens, and salutes. "Captain."

No stranger to the demands of running an air wing, Marek is slumped in one of the back row seats, having recently returned from a patrol. Still zipped into his flight suit, he has his helmet on the chair beside him and is filling out his duty report.

Harrison appears from the corridor with a half-empty cup of coffee in one hand, his helmet under the other arm, and a deep frown on his face. "Captain," he greets Marek as he passes on his way to the whiteboard himself. "Captain," he offers again when he spots Sito, coming to the best approximation of attention that he can muster, loaded as he is.

Sito glances up from her writing as she's addressed. She clears her throat softly and returns the salute, though it's a brief one. "As you were." She's been saying that a lot lately. She scrawls her signature on the bottom of a paper, flips the folder closed, and tosses it onto a large and listing pile. Her eyes pass briefly over Komnenos, before flicking to the board. She also glances over at Marek, then returns to her paperwork. After a beat or four, her eyes go to Harrison, and they stay there.

As Sito's eyes pass over him, it occurs to Thorn that he's still wearing a Kharon patch on his shoulder. Well, there's another thing for the to-do list. Harrison's second 'Captain' calls Thorn's attention to Kai, seated quietly in the back. Marek gets a look and a respectful nod, and then Komnenos is stepping up to the whiteboard, searching for his name.

Kai continues writing, his pen scritch-scratching on paper as he finishes filling out the report. He briefly checks his watch to note the time, then notes that down too before signing his name at the bottom. "Afternoon, boys," he greets the arriving pair gruffly, blue eyes briefly finding Harrison, and fixing on the frown. He's swapped out for one of the Hestia flight suits by now, and wears the Red Aces patch in lieu of the Vigilantes'.

"Thorn," Harrison offers quietly before he notes that the CAG's eyes haven't quite left him yet. He offers a respectful nod to Sito, then moves to inspect the whiteboard as well while doing his level best to just act normal while the eye lasers burn him.

Uh-oh, Harrison just stepped in something. The other lieutenant gets a nod from the ECO, whose glance again flicks to Sito and Kai, making sure his ass doesn't appear to be in any hot water; because that would be such a good way to start out on a new ship. "Exile," he murmurs to the other pilot before his eyes finally fall on his name. Komnenos. Thorn. Bronze. "Wardogs, eh," he mutters to himself as he looks to a couple other names. "Th' frak is a wardog, anyway?"

"There some reason for the long face, Exile?" murmurs Spider while he gets to his feet, and starts shoving the report into its requisite envelope. "Or are you just practicing for the next time they serve the special casserole in the mess?" He collects his helmet, but doesn't head for the hatch yet. "Frak if I know," he tells Komnenos helpfully.

"I forgot my damn map, sir," Harrison explains quietly as he looks over the board. "I only ran past this level twice trying to find my way here. Gods help me if I'm up any higher than level 8 when we go to Condition 3." He pauses, and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Is it true, Captain? We're flying Mark IIs?" His patch is the same one as Kai's wearing, after all.

"Thanks for th' insight, sir," Komnenos responds dryly to Marek. The bit about Harrison's map gets a snicker. He looks for a couple more names, then apparently satisfied, moves away from the board to lean against the nearby wall. "Mark IIs?" Thorn says, his brow raised. "Th' whole bloody squadron? Poor buggers."

Not only is it the same patch, but if the whiteboard's to be believed, Harrison got saddled with Marek as his squad leader. "You bet your ass we are," he tells the junior pilot cheerily, clapping him on the back as he finally heads past. Well, cheerily for Spider roughly means that he looks slightly less displeased than usual. "I'll see if I can dig one up and post it in berthings." A map, presumably. "They're fine machines, Thorn, and they've seen some solid service." That might be the diplomatic reply, or he might actually be fond of the twos. Who the hell knows with him. "I'll drop by later to discuss the training schedule with you, Captain," he tells Sito on his way out.

Sito's eyes are still on Exile as he turns. When the question's asked, she responds with, "The Wardogs are a hot shit outfit of raptors. They do the best recon in the Battle group," or did before the Battle group was wiped out, "and they also happen to have the most visually pleasing patch of the lot." She's a purist, and finds the other patches a little busy. But you run with what you're given. "I look forward to it, Captain Marek." May-wreck. You can take the girl out of the country. "Mark IIs require a little more hands on work. I'm sure y'all are up to the challenge."

Harrison takes a sip from his coffee mug as Kai heads away, shaking his head slightly. "Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir," he remarks to Sito, apparently keeping any complaints or thoughts on Mark IIs to himself. "I'm sure we won't let you down."

"Hot shit outfit, eh? Ought t' fit right in, then," Thorn says matter-of-factly. "Always did like that dark blue color, anyway." His own accent is just as thick as Sito's, even if it does hail from a completely different part of the planet. There's no mistaking the Aerelon in her voice, though. Thorn looks over to Kai with something like a smile. He seems a little less tense around the man, now that Kai's no longer the fighter wing's personal god. "Can't help but notice th' use of th' past tense there, sir," he replies. "Take your word for it, though."

Kai doesn't address Thorn's parting remark, though the sound of a hoarse chuckle might just follow the Saggie Captain out the hatch.

One man leaves, one man enters. Or is it two men enter, one man leave? Either way as the Saggie Captain slides out, a taller form replaces his as Lieutenant Hale Is coming in to take a gander at the board, though given that he has his duty fatigues on- it is safe to say someone just got done running through the sim programs. The joy of being on a battlestar. Plenty of room for running, and plenty of time to get your duties done.

"That's what I like to hear. Not surprised it comes from you, Thorn. Aerelon breeds 'em tough." Sito flips open a new folder, and inks a few lines. "You should find a happy home there. A lot of our pilots are pretty uppity in the 'dogs. It's a good family to have nearby. But watch the pranks."

Harrison nods to Hale as he starts making his way toward the door. Best to escape the wrath of CAG while she's distracted with other things, like … Thorn. "Rabbit," he offers as an aside to Hale as they pass like ships in the night.

"Exile." called as he nods back towards Harrison. One hand coming up to scratch along th' scar leading up to that ugly looking eye, before he's looking over to Thorn and the CAG. Not one to interrupt, it seems the Lieutenant will just bide time one way or the other. After all he does want to know the woman he will be flying under, just a little. Mind you this won't be tea and smokes- but never hurts to have a little chat.

Thorn nods. "Tough planet for tough blokes," he agrees. There's a slight smirk at Sito's description of his new squadron. "I have it on rather decent authority I'm a little 'uppity' m'self." The ECO shrugs, still smirking. "I know th' game when it comes t' new blood, sir. I'll be on my toes. Might just show your boys a surprise or two." Hale gets a grin as he enters the room. "Oi, Rabbit. How's tricks?"

"They could use a little extra buzz in their bee hive, Thorn. You give 'em hell." Sito seems amused, her earlier inspection of Harrison has passed, and as more (formerly) Kharon pilots filter in, she watches them approach the board. Reactions are probably be studied. But it's hard to say. Maybe she's like a T-Rex and just zeroes in on moving targets.

Harrison flees, in a manly, not-fleeing fashion. It's more like ambling with a purpose.

Hale looks back towards Thorn and offers him a grin. "Mate." Gah now will the room be filled with ridiculous accents? Why yes, yes it will. "Tricks are good. Just got done havin' m' arse handed to me a couple times in the simulators, though I would like to think I gave back as good as I got." A chuckle there before he's looking over to the CAG and straightening a little. "Sir." good acknowledgement, right? "Look forward to serving under you." Otherwise if he wasn't he's in the wrong damned job-yeah?

"That I can do, Captain," Thorn replies to Sito with a chuckle and another nod. He's about to head out the way he came, before something stops him in his tracks. "That reminds me, sir. Before I left Kharon, Captain Marek was having me crosstrain t' th' front seat. Not sure what th' transfer did t' that plan, but I'd like t' continue pilot training, if possible." Hale gets a muted chuckle, but Thorn's focused on Sito for the moment as he awaits her answer.

Sito glances over to Hale. Something, some unspoken comment perhaps, passes behind her eyes before she nods tot he tall Lt. "Lieutenant." Her greeting is equally brief. She glances over to Thorn. "If the Captain believes you have the capability to fly and wire, you are most welcome to do that here. However, any flight hours will be on your own time, and you'll need to keep your SL appraised of your hours logged. You'll need to find a driver t' help out with that. You will always fly with a qualified pilots to take over in the event of… turbulence." Cylons, etc.

Hale raises a faint brow as mismatched eyes watch the Captain for a second. No, he hasn't had a chance to talk with the CAG, yet. But here is hoping that there is chance once Lambkin has his question answered. A glance is passed back over though as Komnenos is given the go ahead, and with that it's a brief step, and a clasp of his hand on the man's shoulder. "There you go mate. Just practice and nail qualls." And then it is back to studying the board. "Oh, I get Fingers as me wing. Day is lookin' up an up.."

The CAG's pronouncement gets a nod of acceptance. "Of course, sir. Though…" Something causes his eyebrow to tick upwards. "… may I assume I'll have a chance t' prove I can fly without th' training wheels?" Hale gets a snort, and Thorn's eyes flick back to the board. "Says you, mate. I still don't have a bleedin' clue who they've got frontseating for me." Frontseating for him, and not the other way around. After all, everyone knows it's the ECOs who really do the heavy lifting in Raptors, right?

"One day I'ma find out how all y'all got them callsigns." Sito notes, flipping the page in her file. She inks her signature across the bottom, and continues to read. The pile is shrinking slowly, but there's a whole mess of it. "You will be given the chance to qualify as a pilot, but only after your SL is satisfied with your ability, and your regular driver as well. I want double approval on you before I take a look." She glances up to the board. "Your pilot should be listed with the same CAP rotation as yours. Look for the color coded number."

Hale grins back towards Sito. "Got mine a long time ago sir. Due to my erratic flight patterns..an maybe cause I bloody raced in on a landing and bounced down th' tarmac.." a faint shake of his head. "So yeah that's how I got t' be called Rabbit. M' wingman at the time was a rather slow pilot, called turtle.." and he's shaking his head for a moment, apparently not going on with that story any further. Instead he's looking over and peering at the board. "Seems you got a nugget. Hear she's good though." buck up Thorn, would be Hale's message.

"Had t' ask, sir. That always sounded t' be a little too permanent for my taste." Thorn smiles wryly, before he flicks his eyes back over to the board. Score one for Lieutenant Observant; the CAP assignments are right there. Must have skipped over them. Thorn grunts. "I ought t' point out my regular driver just got out of flight training, but if y' still want her input I'm not bloody stupid enough t' argue." His head tilts slightly to one side. "Picked up 'Thorn' in training. Thorns are… prickly, y'see. And troublesome, as th' blokes on th' opposing side of our training sims found out." Another smirk.

The hatch to the ready room opens and a be-uniformed Thea strides in, hair pulled back in a tight french braid. Ahhh, professionalism at its best. Or is it worst? Apparently she expected to see people in here, given her expression.

Sito flips yet another folder closed, and stacks it atop the finished pile. It shifts a little, like it might fall. She pays it no mind, instead flipping open another folder on her desk. Scrawl, scrawl. How mean is it for Sito to make a nugget approve of flying, putting both her and Kom in the hot seat if she's wrong? "Troublesome, are ya?" She regards the man for a moment. "Don' look like too much trouble t' me." Dueling accents!

Hale looks from the CAG over to Thorn, a faint look passed to the other pilot, before he's coughing into the crook of his arm. However he's not saying anything on the whole nugget and judging on how Thorn is to fly. Thankfully, unlike some pilots, Hale does have the fortitude to just shut up. Sometimes.

"Not sure if I take that as a complement or an insult, sir," Thorn responds to Sito dryly, his rough and throaty northern accent clashing with her lilting southern one. Dueling accents, indeed. At the sound of Hale's cough, the Viper pilot gets a quick evil eye before Thorn's looking back at Sito as if nothing happened. "I try t' restrain my troublemaking t' wreaking havoc on Cylon targeting systems, but I'm not a frakkin' chorusboy, either. Never was, never will be." He shrugs. "Besides, didn't anyone ever tell you that old cliche about judging books by their covers?" Another smirk at that. Standing in front of Sito's desk in his blues, which still bear the Kharon patch, he doesn't seem to have noticed Legacy's entry.

Sito just smiles as Hale coughs, and Thorn noodles the possibilities implied by her assigments. "I don't believe anyone who pretends to be a chorus boy an' wears a pilot or ECO's pins is quite honest with hisself or the world. Ain't no such thing as an innocent flier, backseat or front." She nods to Kom. "It's the hair, sugar." And there she goes, sliding down into the ranks of truck stop waitresses everywhere with a southerly dropped 'sugar'.

Thea glances between Sito and Komnenos for a moment, the small smile turning into a bit of a smirk as she looks at Thorn. She pulls up to attention, dipping her head to Sito, and turns toward the flight board. No comment from the Cat.

Hale looks over as Legacy heads for the board, and with that he's moving out of the Captain's way before he is looking back towards Sito. "Watch out then sir. I've know pilots who try." Hale is not amongst those what so ever, so it seems the pins comment applies. "You'll sniff em out." No doubt they've probably already presented themselves as such.

Almost involuntarily, a hand is run through said hair, and Thorn sighs ever so quietly. "Frakkers still carded me for cigarettes when I was in grad school thanks t' this shit," he mutters, shaking his head. He nods to Sito, straightening and saluting before he moves to depart. "Thanks for th' help, Captain, an' I look forward t' serving with you." Gods above, he almost sounds as though he means it, too. He turns away from the desk to clap Hale on the shoulder. "We need t' see what passes for entertainment on this boat. You an' me… frakkers won't know what hit them." Eyes flick back in the direction of the board as he notices another presence. Ohai, Stealthy Captain is stealthy. He nods to Legacy. "Captain," he greets her, then heads for the exit.

Sito glances over to Thea as she catches the Captain entering out of the corner of her eye. "Cap'n." Really it's more of a Cap with an mm on the end, but that's just a consequence of the lilt. "Hope your bunks are workin' out. CAP assignments are on the board." If Legacy didn't hear through the grapevine about her move to the SL spot of Wardogs, the board will tell her soon enough, by placement of her name. "Rec Room is a hoot and a half," she says, without looking up. The tone is also pretty bland.

The non-CAG Captain studies the board for a moment, clearly not wanting to intrude on the other conversation. But when she's addressed, her attention goes to Sito. "Captain," she says with a bit of a smile. "Bunks are good. I was just checking on the assignments."

Hale raises a brow, before he's looking back to Thorn, and there's a nod given over. "When I was in school, we usually picked on that lot." Thus branding Hale as a jock from day- well it was school wasn't it? Still the viper pilot looks back as Thorn heads out. "I'll catch you later mate-Good hunting an all that when you go." piped back to the ECO, before he's looking to filter out himself-Specially as he knows which CAP he is supposed to be on. "Must say, it'll be a nice break t' not have th' Dog watch anymore."

"And t' you too, bro. Sirs." And with that, Thorn's out the door, presumably to arrange for more permanent sleeping arrangements, or uniform retailoring, or any of those thousand little annoying things that need done after a transfer.